Sugar in the Engine
by Failure Turtle
Summary: Good will cease to exist in a world full of evil. RandyxOCxJericho


**A/N: I'm totally winging this one. I have no idea how it's going to end. Hell, I barely even know how it's going to start. But, I think this shall be in kayfabe! I'm going to try my best to make it a long one…I mean in chapter length, of course :)**

It all started with a spoon.

Chris Jericho sat alone in the cafeteria, mulling to himself on how he was going to wreak havoc on the world that day. He stirred his spoon around his bowl of chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream until the consistency thinned out.

Things hadn't been going his way lately. He lost his world championship to Dave Bautista, an animal that Chris firmly believed belonged in a cage. All of his recent accomplishments were being overshadowed by the return on John Cena, to whom Jericho dropped the title to on the night of his return. Chris felt a pang of insignificance when he was placed in the same category as those men. Y2J had been long forgotten, even by the loyal "Jerichoholics" who had ditched the Ayatollah of Rock and Roll for the Doctor of Thuganomics.

Chris picked up the spoon out of the bowl and skillfully twirled it around in his fingers as he contemplated the demise of all of his enemies. He muttered nonsense to himself as various coworkers passed by, sending Chris quizzical looks. Surely, he must look like a madman, sitting alone while twirling a spoon and talking to himself.

"King of the world my ass."

Chris heard those words and his head snapped up. They must be talking about him, seeing as they used one of his former monikers. And when he did look up, the eyes of Dave Batista were boring into his.

"What do you want, assclown?" Chris snapped back, stabbing the poor ice cream with his spoon.

"Oh, hush up, Jericho," Batista chided. "You aren't the same funny guy you used to be, so there's no sense even trying."

"Is that why you came here, Dave? To mock me? To make me feel worse than I already do? Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished," Jericho ranted, scooping up a large portion of ice cream and shoving it into his mouth.

Dave chuckled. "Cheer up, Chris. I'm sure you're not _all_ bad."

"Correction, Batista. I am."

Dave solemnly shook his head. "Shame. And I thought there was hope for you, after all. You've been like this ever since I kicked your ass and took your World Heavyweight Championship."

Chris wiped away the drips of ice cream that had melted on his lips. "And if I'm not mistaken, _David_, I took it right back."

"And if _I'm_ not mistaken, _Christopher_, look where it is right now," Batista said, nodding over at the other side of the room. John Cena was standing against the wall with the World Heavyweight Championship belt draped over his shoulder, flanked by Divas all over: Candice Michelle, Mickie James, Kelly Kelly, and even Layla joined in for a moment while her boyfriend, William Regal, was out of the room.

"That's sick," Chris grumbled, picking up the spoon and gripping it very tightly. He was starting to get an imprint of the handle on his palm, not that he was really noticing at the moment. He snapped out of his gaze and looked back up at the standing Animal in front of him. "Look, Dave, if you only came over here to badger me and make fun of me, then I really see no point in this. You should probably go over there," he pointed at John, "and speak with people on your intelligence level. Obviously, I am above that, and your mere presence is dumbing me down."

Dave nodded, raising his eyebrows. "I don't get you, Chris. I didn't come here to make you feel bad. I came here to knock some sense into you. You've changed."

"And you were going to try and do that by insulting me? Excellent. _'King of the world my ass.' 'You aren't the same funny guy you used to be_,'" Chris imitated, putting on a fake deep voice while imitating Dave. "Your methods are atrocious. It sounds like you picked up your _awesome_ comebacks at a kindergarten playground." It was then that Chris realized what he had said. "Oh, god, Dave! That's sick!"

"What?" Dave asked, shrugging. "Those kids are smarter than you think."

"I think your self-righteous ways are going to land you in jail," Chris muttered, relaxing his grip on the spoon.

"Whatever, Chris. You're a sick bastard."

"I don't think that _you_ have any right to be calling anyone a sick bastard," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "And why are you playing both the good cop and the bad cop here? You insult me, but are then trying to change my ways? You cannot be Hitler and Gandhi at the same time."

"Why I ought to…" Batista growled, stepping menacingly towards Jericho.

"I'd step back if I were you," Chris suggested.

"Why? What are you going to do?" Batista asked, continuing to round on the Ayatollah.

Chris answered with a devilish smile. With a flick of the wrist, he flung the spoon directly at Dave's face.

Dave ducked just in time. The spoon went soaring in the air across the room. Both men watched it in it's trajectory, soaring through the air…

Until it hit someone in the face.

"Oh my gosh!" she gasped, picking up the spoon off the ground. She had just entered the room, and she was lucky enough to be welcomed with a spoon to the nose. She looked up to see where the spoon had come from. She saw Chris sitting down with his jaw dropped and Dave pointing at him. She scuttled up to the two men and put the spoon on the table. "Here, I believe you dropped this."

Chris cocked his head to the side, surveying the woman in front of him. No, he hadn't seen her before, but he could instantly tell that she was not a Diva by any means. She wasn't fat, either. She was very slim, but she didn't have any of the minimal muscle that a Diva would have. Her breasts were too small to be fake, and she didn't dress like a normal Diva would, even outside the ring. She was in a pair of dark blue jeans, a purple t-shirt with a green zip up hoodie over it. She wore thick black square rimmed glasses over her dark eyes. Her black hair was tied up into a messy bun, and she had an air about her of being very stressed out.

"And you are?" he asked, almost rudely. "Are you like…a writer or something? Because, no offense, toots, but you're not exactly Diva material. Maybe you're the new stagehand they've been searching for, but I thought they'd be going for something a bit more…I don't know…Tough?"

The woman smiled. "You must be Chris. Randy warned me about you." She could feel the stare of Dave Batista upon her, so she turned to greet him, as well. "And are you…Santino?" she politely asked, extending her hand to Dave.

He gave her a skeptical look, almost daring to ask if she was actually serious. Deciding that she really didn't know, he accepted her handshake. "No, I'm not Santino. I'm Dave Bautista, or just Batista."

"Oh…" Gracie said, quickly pulling her hand back. "Randy told me to stay away from you…"

"Randy?" Dave asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "You know Orton?"

"Gracie! I told you to stay away from them!" an exasperated Randy Orton huffed, briskly walking towards the trio.

"Ugh," Dave grunted upon seeing Randy's presence. "Chris, remember what I said. Gracie, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Bye!" Gracie smiled as she waved goodbye to Dave. She didn't know why Randy told her to stay away from him. He seemed nice enough.

"And it will be _my_ pleasure kicking your ass tonight," Randy muttered as Dave walked past.

"Oh, is _that_ why you didn't want me talking to him? Because you've got a match against him tonight?" Gracie asked, stepping up on her tiptoes and hugging Randy.

"Something like that," Randy said, his eyes still on the retreating figure of Dave.

Chris was feeling left out. He was used to being the center of attention all of the time. "Um, hello? The main attraction of the WWE is sitting right here, you know. How rude of you to not properly introduce her to me yourself, Randy. Very, very classy. Is she your flavor of the week?"

Randy's cheeks flushed as Gracie looked up at him. "What is he talking about, Randy?"

"Nothing," Randy answered, quickly brushing the topic aside. "Chris, Gracie. Gracie, Chris."

"Why did you tell her to stay away from me, Orton? I know I'm not as much of a gentleman as I used to be, but I'm still much more of a gentleman than you," Chris wondered. Even though he was not really an enemy of Randy Orton, Chris loved taking any opportunity to knock someone down a couple of notches, and Randy's ego was quite the plaything for Chris.

"I told her to stay away from you because you're a little on the crazy side sometimes, and I don't want you corrupting her," Randy explained, and Gracie gave him a peck on the cheek. "Besides, we will all be seeing a lot of each other in recent weeks. She's coming on the road with us."

"Fantastic," Chris said with a sarcastic sneer. He picked up the spoon that he had accidentally hit Gracie in the face with. He pointed it at the couple and said, "See you two crazy kids later. I have trash to talk and people to insult."

Randy grumbled as Chris left. "Come on, Grace. I want to introduce you to some friends of mine."

"Oh, who?"

"My little protégés. I have a test for them tonight."

"Oh, is it those Brody and Tom kids that you're always talking about?" Gracie asked. "They seem to be just like you when you were a kid."

"No, their names are Cody and Ted, and they _wish_ they were just like me. But you won't be meeting Ted tonight. He's out with a concussion. But you'll be meeting Cody and Manu. He's kind of scary looking, but you'll get over it."

* * *

"Randy, I think you hurt him!" Gracie gasped as she waited for Randy backstage. He and his Legacy stable had just fought against John Cena and Batista. During the match, Randy punted Dave in the head, leaving him knocked out.

"Good. He deserves it," Randy growled.

"Deserves it? Do you want to talk about deserving things?" Chris Jericho asked, stepping out from the shadows of the hallway, dressed in his finest suit. "_I_ deserved to be in that main event tonight, not you. But who was I supposed to wrestle? Oh, that's right. Old, washed up Hacksaw Jim Duggan. How am I supposed to keep at my best if I'm wrestling _that_? But let me tell you something, Randy Orton, if I was fighting John Cena and Batista tonight, even by myself…I would have won _without_ getting disqualified. Oh, and I probably would have injured them _both_."

Randy glared at the fellow bad boy. Was that a challenge?

If it was a challenge that Chris Jericho wanted, a challenge was what Chris Jericho would surely get.


End file.
